


A Friend in Need

by colisahotnorthernmess



Category: British TV Celebrities RPF, Chef RPF, MasterChef (TV) RPF, MasterChef (UK) RPF
Genre: First Time, Friends With Benefits, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 15:58:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14452722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colisahotnorthernmess/pseuds/colisahotnorthernmess
Summary: The sight of breast-like pannacottas wobbling soon results in the two judges discussing sex with their wives, or more precisely, how John isn't getting any. Gregg gives him the helping hand he needs when he realises that not everybody is quite as lucky as he is in the bedroom. Set when John was still married and when Gregg was married to Heidi.





	A Friend in Need

**Author's Note:**

> Old fic. Posted in 2011 to Livejournal.

Gelatine was such an interesting substance, thought John, as he watched the half-eaten, white mound practically bounce around the plate of its own accord and Gregg closely chasing it with a spoon. A cheeky, defiant dessert, it was almost as if it didn't want to be eaten. It amused him how food, of all things, could have such personality and how it - what with eating and mating being our two most primal functions as a race - could be so sexy, and produce so many innuendoes. He pondered this after recalling how he explained to Lisa Faulkner that one series of Celebrity Masterchef how a proper pannacotta should always resemble a lady's bosom...

...So, when he heard Gregg's cry of, "Cor blimey! I'm tellin' ya... I could stick my 'ead in that," he couldn't help but laugh. The image of Gregg Wallace's head between two pannacotta breasts was one of great mirth.

"I'm surprised you haven't tried to stick your pecker in it," whatever images may still have been lingering, Torode actually managed to shock himself by saying that out loud. He hadn't intended to so blatantly accuse his partner of wanting to shag a bloody jelly. Even if, after hearing the kind of obscene noises Wallace had made whilst eating today's sweeter dishes, he could not deny that the thought had crossed his mind.

However, Gregg shrugged it off in good humour. "Nope, 'cause that would be a waste of a pudding."

"It's better than your right hand," not wanting to be outdone by Gregg's banter, John caused himself to blush.

"Right hand? Mate, we're both married men," with a wink, Wallace elbowed his chum, "We get sex on tap these days."

"Yeah... But we're not all newly-weds, Gregg," John bit his lip.

"Ahh," came the realisation as the penny slowly but surely dropped into the slot. "Aw... I'm... sorry to hear that, mate--I didn't realise you weren't--"

"No, no! Don't be silly," Torode held up his hands as if he was refusing an offer. And though he didn't dare think about it, it terrified him what that offer actually was. "Our marriage is absolutely fine in 90% of other ways, Doctor Wallace," he started to jabber, "And as for the other 10%... well, I can take care of my own urges. We're fine."

Gregg smiled in understanding and pointed towards the noon-approaching clock, obscured by the ever-present rows of hanging kitchen utensils. Tasting was over for the morning session and, thank Christ for that, because John had had more than enough of talking about this topic. The aforementioned pud - now three-quarters eaten by the hungry judge - its raspberry coulis, summer berries and all - taunted him once more by flaunting its womanly curves and wobbly bits around the worktop. He coughed, feeling the need to have the last word:

"I suppose we have to make do with what we're given."

And that was the notion which conveyed his thoughts exactly ten minutes down the line, as he stood before his dressing-room mirror, examining the middle-aged male he saw reflected in the glass. "I suppose we have to make do with what we're given..." Remembering this, he tilted his head to one side and stared straight ahead; there were bits that were too flabby, bits that were too hairy, but he was still an attractive man; he wasn't ready for the rubbish heap quite yet... he hoped. Or maybe the recent lack of appreciation for him in the bedroom was a signal of just that.

He wished the fluorescent lighting wasn't so strong in here... John had been spoiled by their new set; all dark indigo and brushed chrome surfaces, which eased the appearance of their wrinkles and frown lines on-screen - the pair of them, even in HD. Backstage, he couldn't hide from the harsh truth. He had to accept that he was getting older and, therefore, less appealing.

In the space of a few short minutes, his cardigan had been jostled onto a nearby hook and he was all but stripped down to an unbuttoned shirt and pair of Ben Sherman boxer-briefs. With the trousers pooled at his ankles, he turned to lean on a chair in order to remove them fully, causing him to be away from the mirror just long enough to be unaware of any activity behind him. Lost in thought, he hadn't heard the unlocked door click to; facing the wall, he couldn't see the man breaching his privacy.

When Torode returned to the mirror, there was something different about the room. And by the time he had realised what it was, two familiar, chubby hands were starting to snake around his body. One came up to cup his underwear-clad bulge and the other became a hushing finger to his lips, to stem the immediate anticipated reaction. "What are you doing?" gasped John, taken aback.

"Helping you," Gregg grunted, in gruff reply.

"I told you... I don't need your--" the Australian was cut short; it was difficult to protest when the former greengrocer was doing that to his meat and two veg. Besides which, famous for his typically antipodean honesty, John found it tough to be anything but open with other people. He couldn't lie well at the best of times and, at the moment, his semi-erection was contradicting every last protest he could possibly make.

He watched, curiously, as two pudgy thumbs slipped into the waistband of his pants, proceeding to remove the offending items completely. He marvelled at how perfectly his cock sat in Wallace's large palm. Beyond that, he couldn't tear his eyes away from his friend's expression of pure concentration; every ounce of brain matter devoted to what would give his lover the most satisfaction. It made him rock hard within seconds.

When Gregg caught sight of John's baby blues, perfectly in-line with his own gaze, he nodded in approval. "You're big, old son," he said. "It's nice." He gently skimmed the outside of the bevelled, tanned surface with his forefinger and thumb, squeezing the foreskin and illustrating the length from balls to tip. Torode knew that he was clearly being generous in his compliments, but he'd never been more touched that someone who he mostly considered a work colleague would go to that effort to please him.

"Nah, not really... Never had any complaints though," they shared a bashful grin, but John couldn't keep up such a coy, cool exterior for long; Gregg was speeding up in his strokes, the sound of rough, working-man's hands scraping almost brutally against the delicate skin of his dick. The chef cried out loudly - too loudly - several times; he was very emotional, as the older man behind him well knew from their time together on Masterchef. Torode was known to cry on-set at least seven times a day - in fact, they both did their fair share of sobbing - but Wallace had certainly never seen stifled tears like these from his co-presenter before.

"Oh! Oh, shit! No... We can't," John groaned, his moistened eyelids fluttering fifty to the dozen. "We can't do this - it wouldn't be right." It was becoming less about two pals helping one another out now and again and more about the craving he was currently developing to do this with Gregg day after day after day after day. Now that he couldn't ignore the possibilities of what the future would hold for them if they continued, he felt it was only fair to warn Gregg that this meant more to him than a mere wank.

"It's awright," the Londoner tried to calm him, surmising that this was the case.

"But what about--?"

"Don't you worry about that... Heidi won't mind. She thinks the world of you, John."

After being granted all the permission he needed, the Aussie's knees buckled and completely gave way. He would have toppled over had Gregg not caught him. Gregg saw this as a sign of John's forthcoming orgasm and quickly held his left hand underneath his arousal in some hope of saving the furnishings. As predicted - so incredibly in-tune with each other after over six years of living in one another's pockets during filming - Torode spurted almost to order in Wallace's hand. Through gritted teeth (after all, he didn't want the entire production crew to hear what he was having for lunch), he hissed; lovingly milked until he was fully spent.

"Fucking hell," John squeaked, finding his voice in and amongst his breathlessness.

"Mmm, yeah. You like that?" Gregg chuckled. The vibrato of his deep laugh rumbled along his partner's spine in a way that was sensual enough to induce a final drop.

"God... I gushed over you like the Archibald Fountain... I mean, I'm sorry about that, fella," he rectified himself, still panting. "You... You really didn't have to do anything like that for me, you know. I did say--"

"It's not the same though, is it?" the bald man acknowledged, collecting him in a loose embrace. "It's different when it's somebody else's hand."

All too astute. It was indeed different because it was somebody else giving John that warm and fuzzy feeling inside... It's always different when it's somebody else's hand wrapped around your cock - this was proved to him; it's different when there's someone else's flesh pressed against your own - he moaned thinking of Gregg's exhausted wrists hanging limp by his sweaty thighs; and it's always different when there's another heart beating beside yours, he realised, tossing his head back onto the foreign shoulder and feeling the pulse in his neck of two different hearts, rapidly beating but at the same time.

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this is a work of fiction involving real people written by myself - it is a completely made-up fantasy and is in no way intended to cause offence.


End file.
